


Sucker Love

by autoschediastic



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, accidental orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/pseuds/autoschediastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i'm gonna jerk off on ur fuckin pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sucker Love

"Shit," Tommy hisses, the sharp sting of Adam's teeth scraping his dick jolting him back from the sweet, straining edge of almost-there. Dazed and panting, he stares blankly as Adam scrambles up and tries to figure out what the fuck without the breath to ask _what the fucking fuck_.

Adam mouths, "Sorry," already rolling off the bed with his phone to his ear. "Yeah, Lane, I know, _I know_ , I'm sorry, I got, uh, caught up-"

Snickering, Tommy relaxes back into the tangled sheets, flexing a cramp out of his toes. He listens idly to Adam give up on the excuses and start taking it like a man, scratches at his belly, fingertips ghosting further down as he plays with the idea of getting off while Adam's stuck on the phone. The decision's made for him the second Adam turns around, Adam's gaze skimming down and a very clear _don't you dare_ formed on his lips.

Fighting to keep a grin off his face, Tommy arches a brow and takes firm hold of his cock, jacks it a couple times. He doesn't even have to work to make it look as good as it feels. He's slick with Adam's spit, his own precome, and it's fucking amazing with Adam's eyes on him.

"Tommy," Adam snaps, and flushes red as he stumbles over, "No, nothing," to Lane. He makes promises about never being late again and loving her forever before disconnecting, tossing his phone onto the bed at Tommy's feet. "You total shit."

The grin Tommy's been holding back breaks free. "Hey, you're the one who like, almost bit my dick off," he says, and rubs his thumb over his leaking slit, drags it down in a fresh smear of shiny wet.

Dropping down onto the bed on his knees, Adam grabs at Tommy's wrists, pins them to the sheets. "I've got an interview in twenty."

"Sucks," Tommy agrees, "but I guess it'll do." He glances meaningfully at his cock resting heavily near the crook of his thigh. "Back to it, rockstar."

Instead of going down, Adam drags him up, pulls him stumbling off the bed and towards the bathroom. "You're coming with me."

"'Kay, whatever." Tagging along on promo shit isn't Tommy's usual thing, but whatever. He's easy. Especially if it means his near future holds a quickie in the hotel's big shower.

It doesn't. "We're on a schedule," Adam says, briskly dumping shampoo onto Tommy's head.

Tommy starts to bitch about this total lack of blowjobs as he's towelling off, but Adam whisks him up in a tornado of hair products and eyeliner and image-appropriate clothing, and when Tommy finally hits the ground again, he's stuck between Adam and Neil in the backseat of a car.

At the radio station, he starts out perched safely in the control room and ends up sprawled in a chair that Adam had somebody drag in during the break. The last place he wants to be is smack beside Adam while they're on the air. He's hyperaware of the big round mic in front of Adam's face, paranoid that it'll pick up his breathing if he doesn't keep it shallow, or the rustle of his jeans on the chair's upholstery, or fuck, if he forgot to turn off his fucking phone.

Thankfully, after that first knowing glance, the interviewer ignores him completely. Up until Adam gets really excited answering a question about who'll be contributing to the next album, anyway, and ruffles Tommy's hair, beaming his happiness across the airwaves. But even then it's only a wink and a sly remark about sticking with the people who work. Tommy doesn't exactly breath easy after that, but he's in less danger of hyperventilating.

Then there's lunch at an outdoor cafe where the entertainment is an article in the newspaper making Neil go off on some politician, and after that, Lane's bustling them back into the car so Adam can swing by some event to give a quick soundbite. And after _that_ , it's time for freaking soundcheck. Adam randomly picks Bowie's _The Man Who Sold the World_ , the opening chords sending chills down Tommy's spine that are nothing, fucking _nothing_ , compared to when Adam opens his mouth to sing, and by the time they tromp off the stage, Tommy's gone from vaguely annoyed over being denied his morning orgasm to actually kind of really pissed. He's twitchy and impatient and his skin crawls with heat every time Adam so much as glances his way.

Catching Adam's gaze, he jerks a nod towards the dressing rooms set up in the back of the venue. Adam's response is a hang on, just a sec gesture, and Tommy slumps against an amp, picking at his chipped nail polish. _Okay,_ he thinks, _alright,_. A couple more minutes won't kill him.

Five minutes later, as Tommy stares at the back of Adam's head as he's heading out into the sunshine with Neil, Tommy revises his opinion. The wait isn't going to kill him, but he might kill Adam. Throwing a surreptitious glance to the side where the roadies are working, Tommy adjusts his cock so it isn't all cramped up in his shorts and stalks down off the stage, taking the back exit to skirt around the busses, tailing Adam as he wanders between them still talking with Neil. Tommy loses them for a second, but he's pretty sure he knows where they went. Punching in the code to Adam's bus, Tommy bounds up the stairs.

And looks around blankly at the completely empty lounge. "Son of a bitch," he mutters, yanking out his phone to stab out a message to Adam. _where'd u go?_

 _W/neil. Just a sec._

Tommy scowls. He figured that much out, thanks so fucking much. _WHERE??_

This time, Adam's reply takes longer than fifteen seconds. Tommy paces the length of the bus, swinging into Adam's room to fiddle with some stuff left dumped on the bed in their haste to make it to the hotel last night, get the most out of their time there. When his phone chimes, he eagerly grabs it up, flinging aside the notepad of random lyrics and chords he'd been flipping through.

 _horny, baby?_

Viciously, Tommy jabs out, _i'm gonna jerk off on ur fuckin pillow._

 _rather you save it for me._

Tommy drops back with a frustrated groan. Even if he wanted to beat one out right now, it wouldn't be any good. Quick and briefly satisfying, sure, but not really _good_ , not like Adam could make it. He half-heartedly palms his dick to see what it thinks about the whole deal. It barely even twitches.

"Yeah," Tommy says, "tell me about it."

His phone chimes again. After giving serious consideration to pitching the fucking thing across the room, Tommy grudgingly reads Adam's message. _sweetheart, u gonna save it for me? Want u to._

"Fuck you," Tommy says, but he jabs _y_ and hits send, then quickly adds, _fuck u_ , because if Adam's going to be a dick about it, so can he.

When he gets a single _< 3_ in response, though, making him feel like a total ass, he's not sure if he wants to kill Adam, or kiss him. Adam's bossy, totally the filthiest fuck Tommy's ever had, but he's so fucking sweet, too, genuine and caring, and he messes Tommy up something bad. Maybe he'll settle for kissing Adam stupid, and _then_ he'll make Adam blow him. That's totally fair.

But by the time they hit the stage that night, Tommy's swung back around to justifiable homicide. Adam spent the rest of the day dodging him, always with a perfectly good reason that isn't a fucking reason at all. Lane needs this, or the venue needs that, or the label wants this, or, or or, on and on and _on_ until Adam is fucking feeling him up during the encore, promising to give up a whole lotta love that Tommy wants to call bullshit on. Tommy totally needs a whole lotta love, okay, right the fuck now. Adam needs to shut up and get them the hell off this stage.

When Adam dips in for a kiss, Tommy darts up, licks the tip of his nose. The audience loves it--they honestly don't give a shit, as long as something of Tommy's is on something of Adam's--but Adam frowns, grabs him by the throat. He locks his knees to keep from sinking into it and tosses the crowd a sassy smirk that's really all for Adam. Adam gets up in his face, singing again, and their screams swell, beating at Tommy like waves on the shore, driving at him to give in, open up his mouth for Adam's tongue. He lets his head fall back instead, baring his throat, and a growl creeps into Adam's voice seconds before Adam pushes him back. He exaggerates his stumble, making a good show of it, a giant shit-eating grin plastered on his face as Adam throws him a dark sideways glare and stalks to the far side of the stage to snarl his frustration out in the song.

After their final bow, and as Tommy files off stage with everybody else, a hand darts out of the shadows to grab his elbow. He tumbles backwards easily into Adam's broad heat, curling an arm up to fist the hair clinging damply to the back of Adam's neck. "You gonna put out now or what?"

"You gonna quit being a brat?" Adam counters, big hands splayed out over Tommy's chest and belly holding him in place when he tries to jerk away, because _hey_ , Adam totally started this shit. "Don't even. You're so being a dick about this."

"Me!" Tommy blurts, wriggling around in Adam's arms, which leaves him with nothing to do with his except sling them around Adam's neck or have them hang awkwardly at his sides. The whole hanging off Adam thing pretty much kills any chance at righteous anger he's got going on, though. It's hard for him to stay ticked in the middle of a cuddle. Especially a cuddle from Adam. "You kept me hanging all fucking day," he mutters, "and you were totally shitty about it, and making excuses, and like," any second now, if Tommy doesn't shut up the hell up, he's going to scuff the floor with his toe like a petulant five year old denied his dessert.

"Oh baby," Adam says, and swoops down to kiss him, soft and quick through a laugh Adam isn't trying too hard to hide. "If I wanted to play with you like that, I would've told you."

"But-"

"I would've told you," Adam insists, glitter dancing at the edges of his smile. "And I would've made sure you wanted it."

"But you said," Tommy starts, and stops short. Adam didn't actually _tell_ him to keep it in his pants. All Adam did was try to keep Tommy close through most of the day, and if he went back to have a look at those texts, he's pretty sure what he'd see there is Adam jokingly trying to save his pillow from Tommy's wrath, and maybe honestly hoping Tommy would wait until they could get back together, properly finish what they'd started. "Aw, shit. I'm an asshole."

Adam's smile grows impossibly wider. "Maybe you're just frustrated. Sexually."

"I am so fucking sexually frustrated," Tommy moans, dropping his forehead against Adam's chest. "Can you please suck my dick now? Please?"

"Honey, I will do so much better than that." For a second, when Adam glances around like he's looking for a good piece of wall to nail Tommy into, Tommy thinks _fuck yeah_ , and gives a quick hop up, trusting Adam to catch him. Hands slap to Tommy's ass as Adam stumbles forward a few steps, and then Adam gets a better grip, resettling his weight and laughing. "What's this?"

"I'm ready," Tommy says, muffled through kiss he's busy sucking onto Adam's neck. "Let's go."

"Right here?" Adam asks, not like he's really asking at all, more like he can't believe that's Tommy's hand worming between them to palm his dick. "Oh, shit, Tommy, no, c'mon. Not in the _hall_."

"Then you'd better fucking haul ass," Tommy says, fingertips reaching bare skin, shoving down to brush the thickening length of Adam's trapped cock, "'cause if I get it out before you get me on my back, I'm gonna suck it."

"Fuck," Adam groans, and dumps him back onto his feet, grabbing Tommy by the hand and taking off down the hall like a bat out of hell, laughing wildly when he glances back, finds Tommy working double-time to keep up. They crash into Adam's small dressing room, and Adam slams the door, slams Tommy up against it, pins him there with a forearm laid across his hips as Adam tears into his fly. Belatedly, Tommy's cock inches from his mouth, Adam says, "I'm so fucking glad Sutan wasn't in here," and then he's going down, sucking hard and frantic and cramming his mouth and throat full.

"Oh shit," Tommy hisses, grabbing for the doorknob as his knees buckle, "oh fuck, that is so fucking good, holy shit," gone from thick and interested to hard as fucking nails in two seconds flat. He tries to hold off, make it last because he's been waiting _all fucking day_ for this. But Adam knows him too well, knows exactly how to turn Tommy into a desperate mess scrabbling at the door, searching for something other than Adam's hair to grab onto, and Adam seizes his wrist, pushes his fingers into hair thick with product anyway. The second his grip fists tight, he's done. He can't stop from fucking into Adam's mouth, hauling Adam down onto his cock, barely lasting long enough to gulp down a lungful of air before orgasm punches it straight back out again. He grinds against Adam's face, wheezes, "Fuck, sorry, so fucking good, _fuck_ ," but Adam doesn't shove him off, takes it, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed as he swallows.

Tommy slumps back against the door, panting. "I," he croaks, wetting his lips, "gimme a sec," and he makes a vague motion that's supposed to translate into _you can totally fuck me stupid as soon as I can turn around to give you my ass_.

"Later," Adam says, bracing a hand on the door to stand, bring his mouth close for a kiss. He tastes like cock and come and beneath that, the sip of Tommy's drink he stole right at the end of the show. Tommy shivers, kissing back harder, dragging him in so he's pressed in a long, hot line down the front of Tommy's body, big and heavy and so fucking gorgeous. "When I can get you in a bed."

"Bed, fuck the bed," Tommy says, but he eases up, lets Adam pull away to start stripping out of his stage clothes. Adam moves easily in his skin, as comfortable stark fucking naked as he is in leather and spikes and lace, and Tommy flicks the lock on the door before shoving away from it. "Seriously," he says, tugging off his own shirt and crowding all up in Adam's space, "forget the fucking bed."

"And fuck you?" Adam asks, wry quirk to his mouth as his hands settle on Tommy's hips, curl inside Tommy's open jeans to nudge them down. They tangle around Tommy's thighs and he ignores them, busy kicking off his boots while he's backing Adam up. When the backs of Adam's knees hit the hefty-looking chair in the corner and Adam falls into it, Tommy plants a hand on his chest to keep him there, crawls right into his lap and says, "Now you're fucking talking."


End file.
